


Sons of Forgotten Kings

by Sophia_the_Scribe



Series: The Scribe's Poesy [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Akallabêth, Downfall of Númenor, Gen, Northern Rangers, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_the_Scribe/pseuds/Sophia_the_Scribe
Summary: A poem for the Dúnedain rangers of Arnor. References events in the Akallabêth.





	Sons of Forgotten Kings

The sons, descendants, of forgotten kings:  
How long have we endured amid the gloom?  
The hammer falls, the axe on anvil rings,  
And ever nearer draws the tramp of doom.

The refugees of Númenor were few  
And ever now the line fades more and more;  
Lords, warriors, and rangers darkness slew  
In endless, weary, never-ceasing war.

And through the bitter watches of the night  
When even fire’s glow is red as blood  
We still remember, aye, we see the light  
Which, on rejecting, brought Atalantë’s flood.

And this our hope, the Faithful to remain,  
As Elros down to Elendil the Tall,  
Through ev’ry storm, each overpow’ring bane:  
To Arda’s Lord forever only call.

Elenna’s ruin let us ne’er forget,  
To lose what was preserved by bitter fight;  
And may we act for good, to never let  
The darkness win by schism, stealth, or might.

The heedless folk who dwell beneath the hill,  
Across the water, in the Shire and Bree,  
To smile at jests beside their water-mill,  
To heedless laugh, live unafraid and free:

Our ancestors swore to protect this land  
And in exchange were called the line of Kings;  
Now though from inns and comforts we are banned  
We spend our blood that it their safety brings.

This peril, duty, we have long endured,  
Their safety ever put before our own;  
Our secret settlements we have secured  
Where wolves as wind among the trees still moan.

Our rangers fight, our women-folk defend,  
For death upon us ever waits to fall;  
Young wives bury their husbands and yet send  
Their loyal sons to heed the self-same call.

And now the end draws near, the breaking flood  
Of which this age of war was but a taste;  
Of Dúnedain the darkness will seek blood,  
For Westernesse its schemes ever laid waste.

The final test, the breath before the dive;  
Ilúvatar, oh see us safely through!  
For darkness’ ruin we shall ever strive,  
As we shall ever only worship you.

**Author's Note:**

> "Sons of forgotten kings" quotes Tom Bombadil, The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter VIII  
> "The breath before the dive" paraphrases Beregond, The Return of the King, Chapter I, originally reading "The deep breath before the plunge." I had to change it because nothing useful rhymes with "plunge."  
> Númenor, Atalantë, and Elenna all refer to the same drowned isle from which come the Dúnedain, of Westernesse.  
> Arda's Lord is, of course, Eru Ilúvatar.


End file.
